retrospectrum
by SebonzaMitsuki27
Summary: ShinjiHiyori. Slight AU. No matter how much he looks at it, it's still his fault in the end.
1. wolves: animals inside of me

**retrospectrum  
**_chapter one  
_Wolfen: das Tier in Mir  
"_**L**e**t m**e t**a**s**t**e y**o**u**r**_ _**b**l**o**o**d.**_"

* * *

She doesn't bother looking back.

No point. Not really. She's a renegade now. She's defected from her 'group'.

Time changed her. It always does.

But she's always been a monster. A freak. A bad-tempered bitch. An outcast.

Once upon a time she used to be a human girl with a high reiatsu. Once upon a time she died. Once upon a time she used to be a _shinigami_. Once upon a time she gained her Hollow powers and became a criminal. Once upon a time she joined a 'group' that was just like her. Once upon a time she left. Once upon a time…

She doesn't live a fucking fairytale. There never was a proper 'once upon a time'. Not now, not later. At least not for her.

She was taught how to kill… how to destroy… how to rip the Hollow's souls apart and severe their limbs… how to torture… how to slay your ally if the action was required. She was taught how to save, but she saves things by destroying it. Piece by piece. The sound of blood singing delightfully in the air.

And _he_ was there by her side. All the time.

She's had her own share of wars and missions and deaths. She's seen broken hearts and bitter tears; malicious love and tainted blood; gory injuries and damaged souls. She's heard the curses and distorted screams of Hollows and Arrancars and _shinigami_ and Vaizard.

Her eyes have seen so many horrors. So many tragedies and '_what if_''s and '_what could have been_'s. Too much blood and guts and decapitated limps and dead corpses… she can't be called innocent anymore. She never claimed she was.

She's not the only one, after all.

She's just a killing machine, both _shinigami_ and Hollow.

She's become an outcast, once again. Because obtaining Hollow powers is wrong, even if it wasn't her fault, they still blamed her.

And neither _shinigami _nor Arrancar can trust her.

They fear her.

Her soul becomes darker.

Her smile becomes sadistic.

And her world has always been twisted.

Because she's always playing a game. Everyone is. They just don't realize it.

Want to play?

– x –

_In game called '__C'est__-la-Vie'… there must be lust._

_A burning desire._

– x –

She arrives. They stare at her.

Quietly, shocked, they watch her walk towards them, a satisfied smirk on her face, striding with the glow of a glorious battle on her face. They used to like watching her fight. They liked the way the blood covered her. Hard work, they thought, but in reality it's hard work in trying to keep the Hollow alive just long enough to sate that sadistic pleasure.

It's the way that scarlet blood oozes out of her clothes, the way that scarlet blood slithers down her flushed cheeks, the way that…

_Flaxen coloured hair…_

Snow white skin…

_Cherry red lips…_

… drenches with blood. A new smell. A new flavour. A new victim.

And the way her eyes sparkle.

But it's the way she licks the blood off that they love the most.

She licks her lips, relishing the taste. She licks her sliver blade, her tongue tasting the blood skimming down the tainted surface.

And she smiles sinisterly.

She had licked his cheek once, her mouth barely touching him, her red tongue tracing the crimson liquid, running down his cold cheek.

_'Sorry.'_ She said._ 'Couldn't help myself.'_

He had smiled darkly, a grim expression on his irresistible face.

– x –

_Dark clouds and dark thoughts_  
_The night of the full moon breaks my barriers_  
_Greed builds up within me for animals_  
_That I massacre_

– x –

She learns how to love the taste of blood. Human, _shinigami_, Hollow, Arrancar, it doesn't matter **whose** blood it was. She enjoys the freshness, the juiciness and the bitter taste of copper. Loves the way it seeps out of her enemies' skin… her golden eyes gleam eerily at the mere sight of it. The taste, the smell and the appearance… even the sound it makes, she wants it all.

They knew when she was thinking about it.

Her aura would just have this element.

And she'd say, gold eyes glowing:

"_Let me taste your blood."_

– x –

_I feel a lust for blood here and now…_  
_Deep in the night of the twinkling stars  
A sweet smell pulls into the distance  
When I have completely seen the night  
My desire is kindled and the hunter in me awakens…_

– x –

It all ends with one fight.

Two blades clash, sparks flying.

There are two tired warriors… speaking only with their shattered swords.

And suddenly she slapped him.

He didn't move; he has had enough.

_'Get out.'_

– x –

_It starts out easy:_  
_something simple, _  
_something sleazy,  
something inching past the edge  
of the reserve._

– x –

Three years go by.

And her life is fantastic.

It starts with just a song.

A smile.

A dance.

No… it wasn't that simple.

Life is never that simple.

It can be the sultry dance, or the damp atmosphere, but perhaps it is just the alcohol that takes hold of their minds. It can be the flashing lights that change from red to blue to yellow to green to purple to orange to anything. The sake that they serve in the bar is powerful, addictive… _intoxicating_. It's one of the reasons why the nightclub is so popular. It can make people feel, it can trigger certain memories… it can make them feel alive.

Because no one knows what will happen next.

That's what makes life so exciting.

– x –

_In 'Cest-la-Vie' there must be no warning._

_No telling of the future. It will **stay** unpredictable._

– x –

It might be the shade of blonde hair.

Not the tight-fitting red dress. Or the spooky smile, her heavy lids lowering over blazing eyes. It isn't anything to do with how much skin she's revealing, despite how petite she is.

Maybe it's just the alcohol, messing up his mind. It proves that he is a hot-blooded male.

While jealousy can make him dangerous, lust will drive him mad.

– x –

_Strange thoughts, wild lust  
The desire for the tender breast meat  
I want to tear, I want to bite and shred withered flesh  
I hunt my prey with lustful agitation_

– x –

Sarugaki Hiyori.

Look at what she's become.

The Vaizard.

Rejected by Hollows, criminals in the _shinigami_ world, monsters to the human world.

What shall she do?

Where will they hide?

How shall they live?

How much **destruction** – _protection_ – should she cause to prove she exists?

How many Hollows should they kill?

How high is their pride?

And how high are the **destroyed** – _saved_ – souls' corpses?

Look at what _she's_ become.

What they've become.

Aren't you proud… Shinji?

– x –

_Such grace, such beauty_  
_and lipsticks and callous_  
_and fishnets and malice_

– x –

She loves it.

It's her job.

She'll be damned if her past takes her away from here. If they recognise her, that is. Would they? Would they know the changed little blonde girl?

She wouldn't care, either way.

She doesn't need sandals; high heels are more deadly.

It's not the sake that's made her this way. It's the blood, the lust, the burning desire that consumes her.

She can kiss, she can drink, she can fuck because it'll be fun.

And she's legal.

Let the past come. See if she cares. See if anything will change.

If she dies, drowning in sins and burning in hell like a fallen angel, she'll smirk.

Her life right now is fun. And she won't regret it if it comes to that.

– x –

_Such grace, such beauty_  
_So precious, suspicious,_  
_and charming, and vicious_

– x –

She used to come to them, after her battles, dripping in blood and smirking back their cold smiles with a mocking malevolent smirk. Her menacing aura emitted from her reiatsu was so scary that they froze at her presence.

Here comes the monster.

Brought up with a hard life… killing… slaughtering… laughing… wreaking destruction in her wake.

Destruction that saves other people's lives.

( but aren't they the **same** ? )

( what makes them **different** ? )

– x –

_Stand up! _

_Just when you think you're in control…_

_Fuck off!_

_Just when you think you've got a hold… _

– x –

Concentrate.

Look.

Listen.

Think.

Act.

– x –

_Do you still think that I'm nobody?_

_Do you think that I don't exist?_

… _am I a bloody beast?_

– x –

She's become a monster to deal with her sins.

Her 'crimes'.

A demon… behind her once innocent gold eyes… behind her snow-white skin and flaxen hair… behind everything that seems superficial. She's turned into a demon that roams as an endearing, petite girl.

She's young, she's hot-tempered, but she's cute and a good kisser. She knows how to get what she wants, and as long as that works, she's fine. She can fuck and kiss; lick and moan; scream and use that small, plump cherry-red mouth to earn it. She might dress like a slut, talk like a bitch, fuck like a bitch, leaving you lusting for more, but there's far more important things that go through her mind.

Because once you take the bait, her sadistic smile widens, with the blush of recklessness and no regret on her pretty, freckled little mask.

– x –

'_C'est-la-Vie' is a game that never ends._

_It lies, it cheats, it backstabs you with a poisoned knife._

_Live it. Play it._

_And conquer it._

– x –

_I'm not a beast._

_I feel._

_I cry._

_I desire._

_I dream._

_And…_

_I love._

– x –

She doesn't care that the rest of her 'group' have kept their image pure, even if they've had scars and tears and turmoil in the past.

They're not her.

And she doesn't **care**.

All she cares about is a dance. Music. A live band and booming soundtracks with noise that threatens to make them deaf. All she cares about is the sensuous touches and the hot breath that her partner is giving her.

Caressing skin, suppressing moans, the hard bites that will leave bruises – it's all good for the blonde, golden-eyed girl.

She doesn't like it.

She's **_addicted_** to it; she can't live with_out_ it.

Because for her, dirty dancing, music, sex, lust and blood are essential.

And she loves what she's become.

– x –

'_C'est-la-Vie' is a game._

_It's a matter of choice._

– x –

Sake tastes great. No, in fact it tastes the best. She liked it instantly the first time she tried it. She asked for another one, a different type.

She's greedy and she wanted to taste every single one of them.

She's selfish and wanted to know the experience of being drunk.

She got offered a job and accepted.

And she gets to drink all the sake she wants.

She never claimed she was innocent.

She knew that she was tainted, corrupted by her mere existence. Her sanity is shattering, crumbling away day by day.

She's kissed. She's been touched.

It doesn't mean that she's been fucked.

She still dreams of being a virgin bride… perhaps the only innocence that she has left. But even that won't last forever.

Strawberry kisses and chaste touches.

Life isn't like that. Not for her.

It all begins one night. When Hirako Shinji visits the bar, unaware of what would happen next. Nobody would, but nobody cares.

Because the nightclub _Las Caras Falsas _lives on.

And Shinji will never forget it.

– x –

_Glowing red eyes follow your trail_  
_The weather leads me across far halls_

– x –

"_Don't make me _**br**eak_ your heart."_

– x –

_I mutate into an animal, I am a creature of the night_  
_I am the hunter of the moon until the morning comes_

– x –

If you're older than eighteen, it's legal.

To drink.

To kill.

To fuck.

– x –

She's 'eighteen'.

She doesn't need hairclips or hairgrips or pigtails anymore.

Why bother when there's mascara and eyeliner and perfume and sake?

She's killed.

She's drunk.

But although she _can_, she hasn't fucked.

– x –

_It is the animal in me_  
_That awakens my greed for you_

– x –

He let her go.

Aren't you proud, Shinji?

That you've created such a fiend?

She did this… all for **you**.

– x –

_I would gladly devour you… _

– x –

Congratulations.

– x –

_… can you sense my desire?_

– x –

You've made the perfect monster.

– x –

Disclaimer: neither the lyrics used, or bleach is mine.


	2. the disaster

**retrospectrum  
**_chapter two  
_Das Unhale  
"_Le_**_t m_e **_te**ar y**our** w**o**rl**d **a**par**t.**_"

* * *

Three years ago she leaves the Vaizard.

Sarugaki Hiyori left.

– x –

She's a maverick, a loose canon, a promiscuous Vaizard. Blame it on Lisa. Blame it on Rose. Blame it on Shinji. She flirted like a slut, spoke like a bitch and killed like a sadistic serial killer. She wore red for a reason. She read the Josei manga and decided to look pretty. And the effeminate man helped. Not so she'd become eye candy, because she'd become a _beautiful_, **sexy** killing doll. She had wondered if the Hollows would like it.

Shinji wouldn't allow it. He already knew that the damage he'd done was too late to be repaired. Still, he could help her future; therefore, he didn't intend her to grow up like that. He had taught – _refined_ – her killing techniques to protect herself. Not to make her a slaughter machine. Not to make her look like a pretty porcelain doll covered in blood. So she obeyed.

But she became worse to his despair. It was true that she has protected herself and that she has perfected her technique to become recognized. Feared and admired. But… she's cruel and sadistic.

Her demonic lust for sadistic bloodshed and cruel torture; her desire for terrorized screams and the unique sound of a dying corpse or a living body being destroyed turns… into an insatiable addiction.

A promiscuous, sadistic and merciless Vaizard…

How exquisite.

– x –

_There's something cold and blank behind her smile_  
_She's standing on an overpass_  
_In her miracle mile_

– x –

But she had snapped.

It's the reason why her blonde hair and pale face are saturated with blood. She said that she couldn't stop. Not just yet. The blood was too intoxicating. And the screams of pain and hatred and fear were music to her ears. And the serrated, cut off Hollow limbs were exquisitely beautiful – her own masterpiece.

"What do you want?" She had asked.

"_Leave me alone, you fucking whore."_ The Hollow had taunted, spitting at the tiny midget below him.

That did it.

She's vindictive. She doesn't forgive easily.

She's a fucking Vaizard with no heart, no humanity. She did once, a long time ago, contain kindness and mercy, but too many people died because of that. So she rejected every good thing about her. Everything that made her weak was cast aside.

So she slaughtered, tortured, decimated the Hollow. In the most heartless way possible.

"You bastard… you think that you can get away with an insult like that… you're dead, you fucking Hollow." Anger had been laced through her voice, lethal and deathly calm. "I'm gonna make you regret from ever coming here… and it's going to be so painful… that you'll be begging me to end it… and I will… slowly… oh _so_ slowly…"

The Hollow cackled, thinking that he was invincible, until it saw her golden eyes glowing eerily and stopped. He had never seen eyes like hers, glinting evilly and inhumanely. Then it felt her blade.

And…

It howled.

The rest of the Vaizard had watched her, silent and horrified. Four of them had stopped watching anymore, unable to handle her…_ persecution_.

And they couldn't stop her.

The agonized howls turning tormented shrieks. Begging. Weeping. Pleading.

( Just **end** it now. )

( I can't. I **won't. **)

But she hadn't listened. "You earned it, fucker. Scream. _Scream._"

( Scream… for me. )

Nobody called her a whore and got away with it.

"Louder." She had whispered, exhilarated, grinning mockingly – spitefully – at it. "I wanna hear it more. Fill it with pain, suffering, I don't care. Just let me tear your world apart." Slowly, oh very slowly, she had ripped apart its limbs until there was no more. And with every slice of her bloody zanpakutou, the shrieks rose, its pain haunting the other Vaizards' ears.

She could have killed it in one blow, but she hadn't. It had condemned her, and so she would destroy it. And still it shrieked, in anguish, in sorrow.

"Louder." She licked her lips. "Louder." She began to laugh quietly. "_Louder._" The sound of bitter laughter and woeful screeches combined.

And the Hollow screamed. Each time louder, more painful, more pitiful. It intensified with every blow.

She was drowning in a sea of blood. Her flushed cheeks were soaked in black blood that were from the severed limbs.

And to the Hollow's dismay, she licked the blood that dribbles down her cheek.

"I want you to remember me." She said, her golden eyes oddly blank, save that violent glitter.

"_W…why…?"_

"So we can meet in Hell."

And she lifted the blade one more time.

– x –

"Hiyori."

"That's enough." Shinji said, stepping forward.

But the petite girl didn't listen, still chanting and laughing spitefully at the sick sight.

So he killed it. Without hesitation.

The blood splattered onto her hair, drenching it crimson.

"Bastard. That was my Hollow." She spat; disgusted that _he_ would do such a thing.

It was _her_ prey.

– x –

_You feel that?_  
_I rip back, every time you tried to steal that._  
_You feel bad? You feel sad?  
I'm sorry, hell no fuck that!_

– x –

Later, before she took her shower, she stared at herself in the mirror.

So tainted. So bloody. So beautiful.

So _wet_ with blood.

Wasn't it a lovely picture?

She used cold water, to make her skin numb and frozen, not flinching when the icy liquid touched her skin, giving her skin a paradoxical temperature feel. Ice cold. Boiling hot. Alternating as each seconds passed. The blood didn't wash off easily. It stuck and it slid and it traced her body, the water not helping.

She washed the crimson liquid off her blonde hair, but it remained, albeit invisibly to the naked eye.

And the smell still lingered through black hearts and painted lies.

She reeked. Soap couldn't erase the smell, and no matter where she was, she still had the sense of blood lingering. It's a constant reminder to her that she's a murderer. A fucking murderer.

But that's all right. _Shinigami_ were born to be murderers – it's the reason they kill Hollows.

Even if the scent of blood wouldn't fade away, it didn't mean she hated it.

Actually, she **loved** it.

– x –

Except for brushing her fair hair.

The blood that was shed from her enemies tended to make her hair rather knotty. She could live with the pain, though.

Although, in a way it was like tearing a new skin off her, brushing someone's blood off her. Someone's rotting, poisonous, vile blood that's sinfully delicious.

And today, she had to look right.

She had to kick Shinji's _ass_ for what he did.

– x –

_You were from a perfect world_  
_A world that threw me away today  
Today to run away_

– x –

"Leave." The 'leader' of the Vaizard told the people surrounding them.

"You're awfully calm." She said; head tilted to one side, narrowed golden eyes glowing.

"On the contrary, you've never been this serious." He replied, blue eyes meeting hers.

Her sword rested on his shoulder, dangerously close to his neck. It's tilted, gleaming; almost ready – _waiting, anticipating – _to injure him.

… maybe even slaughter him.

"Why did you do it, _Shin – ji_?" She asked; her voice dangerously soft and deadly.

"Why did you stop me from _killing_ my prey?"

She sounded so innocent, so childlike, if only her words could be the same.

"You were being unnecessarily cruel." He replied, his face revealing nothing.

– x –

"Oh? Is that a problem?"

The blade slid past his shoulder, lightly tearing his shirt.

"No, but it means that—"

"_Shut up._" She hissed, her eyes glinting maliciously, wanting blood to be shed.

He knew that look. He knew it all too well. And this time he wasn't sure that he can stop her.

"Hiyori—"

"_You – took – him! My prey. And I don't think I'm gonna take any of your crap tonight._" Bones clicked into place and she raised her zanpakutou.

And swung.

"Don't—"

"_So, Shinji…"_ She purred, almost relishing the syllables of his name, _"Will you let me tear your world apart? Or should I just taste your blood?_"

And he knew that she'd become a perfect monster.

– x –

_Who shot that arrow in your throat?_  
_Who missed the crimson apple?  
It hung heavy on the tree above your head_

– x –

He couldn't stand it.

What she'd become.

Animalistic, cannibalistic, and…

_… it's _**his**_ entire fault._

– x –

_Her mouth was an empty cut_  
_And she was waiting to fall_  
_Just bleeding like a Polaroid that_  
_Lost all her dolls_

– x –

With a deranged grin on her face, she swiped and swung, using _shunpo_ to try and catch him out and perhaps even _kill_ him.

She'd managed to hit him, true, but he'd done the same to her, albeit reluctantly.

She'd blamed him. He had blamed himself.

– x –

_This chaos, this calamity, _  
_this garden once was perfect_  
_Give your immortality to me,_  
_I'll set you up against the stars_

– x –

"_It's – all – your – fault! **I** – _hate – **you**_! Why – did – you – fuck – ing – do – it?"_

She screamed and yelled; shrieked and cried the words 'I-hate-you' over and over again, so he knew that she still existed, that she's not a monster; that she still felt emotions – so many, negative, powerful, overflowing feelings – because every time she repeated those three words a knife was digging itself deeper and deeper into Shinji's heart. Her hatred was real, a loathing that burnt and it's not something to be trifled with. It's not to be taken lightly, because her hatred could make him suffer like that Hollow did.

And he knew that it's his fault, which was why he didn't stop her from saying it, from deferring her. And even if the other Vaizards had noticed it, they didn't say anything. Not to _their_ faces at least.

Because their past; cursed and intertwined as it is, caused them to be the people they are now.

They've been connected, even if it's resented, all their life.

He tried to make her into something perfect and he made her a monster instead.

And the blades would talk, one screaming in pain and anguish; terror and hate, the other silent and sombre; crying black tears all the way.

Sparks flew, blades slowly being broken, the only sounds were grunts and swords clashing against each other.

And yet, they're both blind… to Shinji's feeling. To Hiyori's subtle grief and heartbreak.

"Hiyori—"

But it's too late. For both of them.

Because her sandal had already whacked him on the face, throwing him back with her impact, her strength, demonstrating how much she hated him, because all her reiatsu has been released in that one shoe.

"**_Shut. Up._**"

– x –

_Who shot that arrow in your throat?_  
_Who missed that crimson apple?_  
_And there is discord in the garden tonight_

– x –

She used _shunpo_ to attack him.

One final blow.

And his hand caught her silver _bloody_ blade.

– x –

_I cut the arrow from your neck_  
_Stretched you beneath the tree_  
_Among the roots and baby's breath_  
_I covered us with silver leaves_

– x –

It didn't matter that both of them were shaking, that his hand is dripping with blood and staining her _perfect_ zanpakutou. It didn't matter that both of them were frozen, staring at each other for god-knows-how-long.

Because his limit could only go so high.

He had allowed her to whack him, beat him, and pummel him to unconsciousness because it was **retribution**. He had made her a monster and so she bit the hand that led her to this path. It was only fair.

So he looked at her and she didn't falter, merely matched his cold and icy gaze that's filled with white anger with her maniac, _grinning_ and sadistic irises, dilating in the heat of the battle, with a crooked and twisted smile slithered into an odd laugh.

But they're still waiting for the other to make the next move.

And in two words the fluctuating equilibrium broke.

"_Get. Out."_

– x –

She blinked, dazed, before her eyes dulled.

"Fine."

– x –

_The sea is wine red _

– x –

He didn't move, shock written in his usually opaque eyes. At least, **she** could see it clearly, like a splatter of blood spurting from a fresh wound.

"Did you expect me to fight? And argue and beg and cry just to join this sad bunch of pathetic losers? _Please_," she snorted, "don't make me laugh."

"…" He let go of her sword, and she mutely left it hanging in her hand.

– x –

_This is the death of beauty _

– x –

"Do you think I'm a beast? A monster that you created?" Her voice was soft, but malice was laced through it, like poison dripping from a knife.

"Whatever. Do what you want. I don't care." She turned her back on him, and begun to walk away.

And stopped.

– x –

_The doves have died _

– x –

"**Aren't** you proud?"

She snorted.

_"Tch."_

She half-twisted, a bloodied mannequin from a murderer's store, oddly disjointed and disconnected.

"Fuck off and die."

He couldn't do anything… except watch her walk away and feel black tears slide down his cheeks.

– x –

_The lovers have lied _

– x –

She'd done what she said she would.

And she's left him with nothing more than a bitter memory.


	3. my sweet prince

**retrospectrum  
**_chapter three  
_mein süßer Prinz  
_"G**e**t t**h**e f**u**ck aw**ay** fro**m** m**e**!"_

* * *

It stood before her, looming above the girl, loud music thumping and booming in her head.

_Las Caras Falsas._

She grinned.

– x –

It's her job.

To have a good time.

To make others have a good time.

And to kill Hollows in the most painful way that ever existed.

– x –

Sweaty, _writhing_ bodies clung to each other, grinding, as she made her way past the crowd, dancing to the upbeat music; the roars of the people bursting her eardrums. She couldn't think – but that's what she wants. No thinking. No ideas. No commands or orders – she's had _enough_ of those. Instead, she just wanted to rely on pure instinct, feeling how _raw_, how **primitive** the ignorant and foolish people could be, who were completely unaware of the horrors that this girl, dressed in red and white had committed. All with a smile that didn't quite fit her face.

What's the point of not going with the flow?

And, _oh_, what a delightful pleasure it was – this hunger that raged inside her – to touch, to burn, to _corrupt_. To taint anything within her limit and make sure that she still was swimming and drowning in the sea of red blood; heightened by the mere impulses of alcohol and excitement that raced inside her blood, streaming into her brain.

She giggled, high on the drug, enchanted on how the world could change, with only a few words, a few actions. And now she's _free_, independent of everyone else, of orders and protocols and now no can stop her now.

No one.

Not even him.

"Hey," a deep baritone voice rumbled in her ear, "want a job?"

She tensed, before turning, a wicked grin on her face. Her chin lifted, acknowledging the man who spoke to her, golden irises dilating at the sight before her. "Why should I? Why would _you_… want _me_?" Her voice had changed, she vaguely noted, much thicker and huskier than it was before.

"You are unique. There is something about you that draws other people towards you. Heads turn whenever you walked the dance floor – I saw that. A path was made without you ever saying or doing anything. And what a presence you have. You're special, and something tells me that you would be a great asset to the team."

_But not beautiful,_ she cynically thought, her mouth pursed, forever in a frown. But still, freedom… however alluring, however liberating it was – what would she do?

"I might bring you down." She said; head tilted sideways, feigning a lack of interest.

Nonetheless… the offer was tempting…

The man smiled, and the liberated girl felt his lips curl against her ears.

"You're a wildcard, and that's a gamble I'm willing to take. Besides, what we need is unpredictability, and there's nothing better than a person like you. Trouble might follow you, but I have a feeling that it might be for the better. For us. For you. And hell," he growled, breath tickling her hair, drinking the _sake_ in the bottle that his big hand held, "I got a feeling you can take care of yourself. Cute, seductive, a wildcard – that's exactly what we need. You might have stalkers, but I'm betting you can take care of yourself, am I right?"

She grinned, her face twisting yet again into pleasure. "I eat men like those for breakfast." Slowly, she licked her lips, fragments of different crimson stains being tasted on her tongue.

"Great! Welcome to _Las Caras Falsas_."

– x –

Three years pass.

What fun. What horror.

What a murderer she has become.

Yet again she stands outside, freckles almost hidden by the sinister blush that covers her cheeks. Flaxen hair, darkened into something more like honey-gold, is teased by the wind, mocking her slightly. Empty eyes blink, a flicker of a spark returning, life coming back to haunt the dead, and she can already feel the pulse of the music running through her veins. Her eyes are smouldering and she looks all the more beautiful and deadly. She can still smell the blood that lingered from the earlier battle, can still feel it sliding down her cold, numb body and hungrily, _lustfully_, she licks her lips.

She can feel it.

Something is going to happen.

Good, bad; exciting, terrifying; she doesn't know, even it's going to change her life. And she shudders, already addicted to the feeling of dread and doubt and denial. Oh. She stops to look at a mirror, reflecting such an innocent image. It captivates her, fascinated with her appearance, so innocently guilty; too adorably sexy. She can still smell the perfume, infused with tangy blood, and she smiles, her pale face contorting, her red lips curling. She can still hear the screams of the latest saved Hollow. They were so beautiful. Unlike her.

People called her the Queen of the Darkness. An empty void. A beautiful statue. A sinful heart with such a pretty face. The blackness hides the blood away, the darkness lures her victims, like a fly caught on a spider's web, waiting and waiting for the sickening _crunch_ before they scream into the nihilistic shadows, swallowed and consumed, destroyed by the agonizing despair.

There's so much more to her than just a pretty face.

A shiver crawls up her spine, tingling with excitement. Her eyes darken, swirling as she watches the sky becoming more twisted and malicious as a storm is brewing up. She grins, entranced as the wisps of white slowly blackened and flexed, almost unperceptive to the naked eye. But she saw it, recognized the sign, she heard a low rumble, like a cat's purr, before it would roar and screech and howl as in an uncontrollable frenzy as it tears everything apart.

"How fitting." A vampyric tooth slides over her glistening crimson lips; inadvertently smudging her white fang with a hint of blood red.

It's the last night she's going to wear red.

Didn't you know?

Black is the new red.

– x –

The clock chimes, and birds fly, scattering their shapes into the sky.

Well.

Shall the screaming party begin?

– x –

He should not be here.

But he is.

He should be planning strategies, think about what their parts will be.

But he isn't.

He shouldn't be hurting after a rightful decision; shouldn't be feeling the regret.

But he does.

It's been three years and still something is missing. The question is what?

He's such a masochist.

To think that it's a person who was violently unstable was his childhood friend. To think that they had so much history, and yet… and yet… nothing had happened, save destructive fights and piercing blows that only caused a bigger rift between them, growing each day, each minute, each second. To think… that he had ditched his 'group', as he, the unofficial leader of the motley crew of rejected criminals, for a night – _one night_ – for a mere memory and a regrettable mistake. And he will not care, just this once, because people break, eventually.

One smile. One comment. One bad day.

And they'll be pretty toys, dressed in clothes of blood red.

They'll _break_ and _break_ over and over and over again, like a merry-go-round spinning out of control and before you know it, the person will either become a glass-eyed doll, sitting there with a half-smile on its face and not care, or… they'll pick themselves up, standing up and finding a reason to live. But even if they stand up, standing like pretty marionettes, with bashed-in faces, crooked teeth and their perfect smile, even if they do that – they would still be pale imitations of their former selves. It might be true that they become **stronger**, they might become **better**, but still, none the less, they're more _fragile_, more susceptible to _falling_ apart again and again, the next time with more ease.

To think that he—

No.

That's all in the past now.

It's nothing more than a memory best forgotten.

Just swallow a shot, chug and lose the ability to think, the ability to listen to emotions correctly, the ability to not make a foolish decision.

Because here on out, life's going to take a turn, life's going to take a tumble.

And so the music starts.

Too bad.

The alcohol has already rushed through the thick crimson blood, already soiled the clear-headed misery that he has already consumed himself in.

It's just a blur, now.

And then he sees – amongst the chatter, the incessant laughter, the echoing nonsense produced from stranger's mouths.

He sees—

_Her._

– x –

_Never thought you'd make me perspire  
Never thought I'd do you the same_

– x –

She makes her way across the dance floor, isolated from the rest of the idle people surrounding her. Heavy lidded eyes narrow, lowering, scanning the crowd for any particular person that especially stands out, for a person that catches her golden eyes. Nobody.

Until she is caught into a spin, twirling into somebody's hands, someone's arms, desperately acting to be wanted; to be needed. Her eyebrow arches, intrigued, and who is she to refuse a request?

Taking it all into her stride, she drapes her arms around his neck, and she breathes, inhaling and exhaling. A faceless boy wonder, just hoping he'll get lucky with her, will never be able to _fuck_ her. She would rather cut off his head, or prettify his ugly face with blood of a fallen Hollow, splattering his plain clothes with a coppery scent, a much more luscious taste and ever more enticing.

If only—

Something glimmers out of the corner of her eyes. She can't be… crying?

She presses him closer towards her, teeth sinking into his skin, licking it in a slow manner.

If only—

She stops, pushing him off her, retracting her fanged teeth from his dull neck. She scowls in disproval. Not even a good taste. Not even as tasty as a Hollow.

—she was—

She sighs, leaving that part of the disco, moving into the bar, angling her head in a lustful manner – licking her bruised lips, always with the faint hint of blood, always with a touch of alcohol.

—dancing with—

Eyes widen; heavy lids with smouldering eyes flutter, surprised. Until she begins to smile, to smirk; to be unable to let loose a quiet and bitter and mirthless laugh pierce the air. Well, isn't this unexpected. What a guy like that doing staring at a girl like her? After all, what's the guy even doing here?

Too bad.

She's moved on.

She moved on the minute she'd stepped out of that rotten hellhole.

Dancing—dancing—let's dance—with—

_Him._

– x –

_Never thought I'd fill with desire  
Never thought I'd feel so ashamed_

– x –

Time stands still.

Two strangers, reunited.

Isn't this a pretty picture?

Now let's make this canvas fill with blood splatter.

– x –

_Never thought I'd have to retire  
Never thought I'd have to abstain_

– x –

They move towards each other, staggering, sauntering, unaware of anything or anyone apart from each other. There's no need for a violent temper. Not now. There's no need for words. Not yet. Why not let the actions speak instead? Why not let two hands that fit like a glove interlock? Why not dance to the heavy beat that pulses through their veins, while the alcohol courses through his blood, poisoning him, acidifying him.

If she kisses him, he's going to taste like toxic.

If he kisses her, she's going to taste like death.

Why not ignore the bloodstained hands grasping each other for dear life?

Why not ignore their two foreheads leaning in to touch each other?

Why not ignore two lips that brush against each other?

After all, he only wants her because she's a ghost that looks too similar to a childhood 'sweetheart' and because he's drunk.

One night stand. That's all he's asking for.

– x –

_Never thought all this could backfire  
Close up the hole in my vain_

– x –

Too bad, Hirako.

Remember those invisible walls that she uses to protect herself? Those walls that you've often wanted to break, after another outburst of her unreasonably short temper, remember those?

Well guess what?

They're going to be splattered black with your red blood.

– x –

_Never thought I'd get any higher  
Never thought you'd fuck with my brain_

– x –

She closes her eyes.

She smiles.

She lets a fang poke out.

After all, he's the one who's slammed you against a wall, making sure there's no way of escape.

She's going to have to play dirty – but what other way of playing has there ever been apart from that?

Fear, excitement, suspense, unpredictability… isn't that the way of life?

She laughs a little.

Because after the kiss that her 'best friend' is going to give her…

He's going to have a lot of things coming.

– x –

_Never thought all this can expire  
Never thought you'd go break the chain_

– x –

Bite.

Lick.

Suck.

Moan.

Bruise.

Slam.

Kiss.

**Giggle**.

– x –

_Me and you baby,  
Still flush all the pain away_

– x –

Remember love.

( … **love**? what is… _love_? )

Play with fire and you get burned.

Try and save a life and you will be destroying yourself.

You've taken action, so now you're going to fear those consequences.

Bear in mind that no matter what happens, you can't hide forever, and that past of yours will never be forgotten.

You've never forgotten that urge to… _kill_.

– x –

_So before I end my day  
Remember_

– x –

Between breaths, gasping for life; forgetting that he's already dead, he whispers…

_"Hiyori…"_

She freezes, breath hitched, shoulders tense, suddenly aware of how much cleavage is showing, suddenly conscious of how much filth and dirt; grime and sweat and tears and she mustn't forget the constant supply of blood that is on her. Invisible as it is. Unseen to the naked eye; it's still there. It slides, it slips, it slithers. Around her. Inside her. It surrounds her; seeping from opens wounds and touches that tingle between stolen kisses and broken teeth and bruised lips.

She…

… is…

… disgusting…

_No—_

It isn't supposed to be like this.

_No—_

It wasn't supposed to turn out this way.

_No—_

And certainly, whatever happened in the past, she wasn't – it wasn't supposed to – end up – meeting _him_ – in a place – **not** this place – _here_. Because her perfect life is crumbling; because her perfect life is going to take a perfect fall; because he suddenly turns up and now he doesn't even realize it's her – in the fucking flesh—

And suddenly she realizes what a terrible state she's in.

– x –

_My sweet prince  
You are the one_

– x –

She's shaking. She's struggling. She's pushing him away while her claws twist into him.

"Get—"

Oh _kami_.

She's going to be sick.

She can feel the blood pumping through her, pounding in her head, each loud heartbeat like a knife twisting her gut.

She slaps him, nails rake – **mar** his skin, blood running down his face—

_Raw…_

_Fresh…_

_Warm…_

_Blood…_

"Get off me!"

_Kami-sama_.

She's going to—

"Get the fuck away from me!"

_Filthy._

_Sick._

_Deranged._

_Disgusting._

_Despicable._

_This is…_

_… sinful._

She needs to—

_—kill._

– x –

_You are the one  
My sweet prince_

– x –

She screams; every fibre alive with the sound of dying.

Before the darkness swallows her whole.


	4. midnight

**retrospectrum**  
_chapter four_  
Mitternacht  
"_**St**op."_

* * *

Shinji remembers the scream penetrating right through him.

He remembers the pain digging far deeper than his skin – his heart, his _soul_ – and it scarred.

He saw that world, that day, that night draped in blurs and sweat and lust and sex with booze mingled in between brute force and nails raking his flesh, soaked in blood that smelt like twangy iron.

And for one second, everything was clear, like a vivid dream, where the chanting and the swirling and the echoing voices – her _voice_ – had stopped, lulled away by far more incarnate desires, far more malicious and rougher than he had intended.

He had gone too far.

That's when – in that moment where sanity and insanity met, where the world shimmered in crimson red and lily white he saw—

_Sarugaki. _

Before he hits the wall, the cold streets drenched with raging lightning and sinister rain, soaking him to the cold white bone. The smile – cold, mysterious, haunting still clings to his face, silly with alcohol, high on the recipe for disaster.

He walks until he can walk no more, his world submerged in vomit and blood.

He licks his punctured lips, before closing his eyes, falling—

—into memories of her.

– x –

_I'm fearless now, but it cost my soul  
__Save yourselves, the moon is full  
__Under it's power, gravitational pull  
__Blood red lips, they shake like leaves  
__You're flesh and blood, but what's underneath?_

– x –

She awakens, aureate eyes glowing like fractured halos scattering its light.

Her breath is shallow, trapped between the state of madness and desire, the overwhelming urge to… to… _kill_ nearly overriding her control. But she can't do it just yet. But she will.

She _will_ kill because that's her purpose.

A weapon.

To save people.

And to murder others.

A life for multiple deceased lives.

Her skin is a pretty shade of withered ash, grey like a day where death is the main event, white like a porcelain doll, a blemished conch before being snapped into pieces.

Everyone has a breaking point, and now is the time where everything fizzles out into succumbing to murder.

She stands up, awkward, odd, disjointed, eyes blank but gleaming—

—_with the urge to kill rising in the drumbeat of her bloodstream._

She ignores them, the bitchy helpers, the friendly dancers, the mysterious manager, walking past them, stiff and uncomfortable, a twitch in her movement, shaking, cold and shuddering.

But they don't help her. They don't know her. They don't move. Because her beauty is far more different than what normal beauty is.

Hers is dealt in hands of blood and dirt; grime and tears; toil and profanity… and you _see._ And once you look, beneath the underneath; submerged within cryptic words and traitorous body language that flows as easily as blood spilling from an open wound, you find that you're already ensnared in her trap. And there is no getting out.

The door opens and closes, slamming like dust scattering in dry heat, echoing in her wake.

And still they watch her through a wall that can only be torn down through violence.

Party's over.

But the day has begun, dawn bleeding into a bitter fantasy.

And the bloodshed is only just commencing.

– x –

They begin to talk after she leaves, whispering in hushed voices:

"What are you going to do?"

And the manager blinks, closing his slightly gaping mouth, regaining some semblance of control.

"Nothing. There's nothing I can do." He frowns, recalling another moment, another time, where a crazed look had flickered like sparkling candle lights on her face, embers fading into darkness. She had smelt like blood, but she was perfectly clean. "… except wait; and let life continue, and maybe, she'll come back."

Hana, a dancer, merely snorts; dark eyes spiteful and glittering in malice, the dancer twirling a jealous pattern. "That girl's no good, Tetsu-san."

His two lips curved bitterly, and the manager, Tetsu, replies. "Neither is life."

But life goes on, and so does she.

Even if it's a downhill struggle; spiralling into something that can never end.

Who starts the cycle? The circumstance? The people? The words? The unconscious acts of hatred that sends a stone rolling down a cliff, the whole thing in motion? When does it actually begin?

Fate?

Destiny?

Do those things exist?

Or do you just make the best of a fucked a life…

… and hope that the end won't be too bad.

"Life's fucked up. That's why we have to carve out our own path, even if… we've been backstabbed."

Defy destiny; defy morals, because who's to say that person should be stopped if they themselves are hypocrites.

Who actually _knows_ that 'right' is in fact 'wrong'?

People are ignorant. People are stupid. People are selfish.

And that's the reason… why life's fucked up.

Nobody has got a fucking clue what they're doing.

They just think they do. The fools.

– x –

_Remember 'C'est-la-vie'?_

_It doesn't play fair._

– x –

The sword sparkles, gleaming in blood and splintered rays of light.

Her mouth is crimson, smothered in drips of dried blood, while the rest of her face is ghost white, translucent like mists that take people away, never returning them, lost in veins of misfortune and cobwebs that snap their necks.

Like a soldier she marches, her hand clutching the sword mechanically swinging back and forth, splattering and soaking and drenching in warm hot _rushing_ blood. It pounds, a mad echo in her head, louder than the beat of her dead heart.

Kill.

_Kill._

_**Kill.**_

Because in the end, regardless of what she did, which agenda she was part of, _shinigami_, Hollow, Arrancar, Vaizard… they were all fucking backstabbing vicious murderers. Justice is a pretty word to cover it up, to ease their conscious by the end of the day and help them close their eyes with righteous dreams.

But the blatant truth is: they're animals. They murder.

And they _save_.

In the name of justice and salvation she splashes blood into the air with a cold heart and an indifferent face.

– x –

She's in Wonderland; wonderful, wonderful _Wonderland_.

Wonderland where everything is arbitrarily contradictory that everything makes sense in a twisted sky of purple skies streaked with sky blue and blood red.

Swing to the left, hear the shriek and spill the blood from his throat.

Sashay to right, laugh at the terror and disembowel his fucking balls.

She's painting the roses red, and guess whose blood it is…

– x –

_If the blood to you freezes in the veins  
__If fear knots to you the throat  
__If you hear your heart and the bells hit  
__If it is a night…_

– x –

Someone sings. A sweet birdsong, shrill in the air; Shinji can hear it as his eyes flicker open to the cruel, cruel world.

And then, as he pushes himself off from floor, the realization is stagnant and sickening.

That's not a song.

That's a _scream._

Regardless of how shit he feels, regardless of why he has an _ache_ that won't go away, he knows—

Step. Step. Look left, look right, and run to the sound of cat's yowling, their pitiful screeches of agony scratching the moon's eyes out. Only one person that he knows will laugh like that, the haunting melody turning into a bloodthirsty chant, sword already in hand, swinging—

—that all roads, will eventually lead to her.

And she cackles, mocking the blood flecked chessboard, golden eyes glaring like the sun, crushing another pawn, slowly watching it crumble like a cookie as her lips twist into such a _pretty _smile, saturated in crimson stains_._

He can feel her voice slide across his skin; her sharp fingernails digging in his flesh, like a spider ensnaring him in her trap, glistening with just the faintest scent of strawberry gashes gleaming off her zanpakutou. Her weaving web tightens around him, barely enough for him to breath.

Yet still, he walks in her direction, crooked lips still tilted upwards, ever so slightly.

– x –

_Darling, you must be mad._

– x –

Pawn. Rook. Knight. Bishop.

King.

Queen.

In the game where all the pieces have undefined roles, which part will you play?

You who dangle in the cusp of logic and lunacy, will you lead the queen unto success? Or shall you lead the king unto demise?

Is the game predetermined from the start, or do you slowly demolish the opposition as you gain the upper hand in lies and betrayals?

Again, I ask you: who are you?

– x –

_Why, yes, I feel quite sane myself._

– x –

With every breath she takes, she dies a little more.

With every swing she takes, she rebirths once more.

With every shudder she makes, she splatters blood into the world.

Such a red canvas, Sarugaki Hiyori dares to create.

Shadows spill and unite, dripping and glimmering as it catches the light in its downhill fall, landing like tears on her ashen white face, crystal clear like ice. Her pigtails twirl, as she almost pirouettes in the air, flipping and spinning, closing her eyes as she forgets another important piece of memory. And her zanpakutou gleams hungrily, begging, pleading, _imploring_ more carnage, filling the skies with crimson galore, in exchange for killing her soul.

With every twist, with every turn, with every gasp and flutter; she casts away another shell, a snakeskin that builds within her flesh, wet and cold and writhing beneath her hollow, hollow, reaping bone.

Memories. What good are they? Useless, useless things.

And yet, she can't help but be reminded as the bells toll back and forth, echoing and echoing as she casts a red mirage around her. If the blood has already caked onto her skin, then she cannot tell.

For her, sweat and blood and tears are mingled; and where one starts and another ends is a complete mystery.

So on she marches, poised, head held high, a steely look in her burning gold eyes.

Around her, lie mutilated corpses that flutter into butterflies.

– x –

When he looks up, the moon is painted in different layers of scarlet. Particles of blood float into the air, tangible on his lips, the taste of her kiss.

And he sees her, dancing the macabre tune of something that is not quite a waltz, not quite a tango, but just as deadly and toxic all the same.

And it's her.

It's _her._

Sliding in sheets of black and white cobwebs, tarnishing it in shades of crimson; death bestowed upon her holy blade, destined to save and kill.

Every step—

Every breath—

Every _touch_—

—there is death, poisonous ivy that glistens in sickening pale sheens, twisting and turning and draining the very life of those who no longer have the right to torment the ghosts with vengeful purposes.

—there is salvation, manifested in cold and clammy hands slicked in dried terror; and it slays those who view it one way in blissful duty, ascending those who see it as cursed fate.

And he runs.

Towards her.

– x –

Oh.

Oh, Shinji.

Don't you know?

Salvation and damnation is the same thing.

– x –

"Stop." The words come in bitter waves of sickening guilt. His lips mouth words that his heart can't seem to follow; his eyes that wish to close are kept open. "Just _stop."_

But this is Hiyori.

Resentful, violent, hot-tempered Sarugaki Hiyori who cannot see him, cannot hear him, cannot touch him, lest her golden eyes burn holes into her wicked heart.

She swings the blood-soaked blade in hope of diminishing her ire.

And so, she doesn't stop.

Once again, he is powerless to stop her, watching her in this carnage of red.


	5. black sun

**retrospectrum  
**_chapter five  
_Schwarze Sonne  
"_**I**t'**s** t**o**o l**ate**__."_

**

* * *

**

This blade you wield, what do you use it for?

To save or to condemn?

Though they mean the same thing, the view, the shape, the form is different to the observing eye.

And when the time comes, when someone else uses their sword against your morals, will you step in front of their blade?

Or will you idly let them pass by?

– x –

"Oi! Sarugaki!"

"_Hiyori!_"

Swing.

Stab.

Scream.

Flicker.

"Shin-_Shinji_…!"

– x –

He does it.

He stops her.

Somehow.

And the cost of it is that her own _zanpakutou_ strikes a fatal wound.

But if it's her… it's okay.

It's okay_._

– x –

She is the monster he made. And that monster has killed him.

– x –

_You penetrate and numb the mind  
__You illuminate my mind  
__You desecrate and you pilfer  
__You are cold and your glow died long ago _

– x –

Perfection. Imperfection.

To be the best, to be the worst.

What do they strive for?

Is it death?

Or is it rebirth?

– x –

_You appear in my dream  
__You caress my black heart  
__Donates light to the tree of life  
__You release me from pain_

– x –

Smirk. Always too wide.

"Took you long enough, you fucking bitch."

Recognition registers.

"I – I…"

– x –

Dammit.

She _will_ not cry.

She will _not_ cry.

She will not _cry._

– x –

What happened to the _hate? _

The _loathing?_

The _disgust?_

– x –

Talk big, walk tall.

Don't back out the second you start having doubts.

– x –

If life is a canvas, painted with flecks of ash grey and blood red, then eventually, it will be torn down.

And everything will fade away… spliced into eternal white.

Forgotten.

– x –

"Shut up and kiss me, if yer gonna feel sorry for a dying man."

"Shit – I – you – _shit!"_

"Shit… that's all I get. What about a goddamn kiss?"

"I already gave you a _goddamn _kiss!"

Chuckle.

"Yeah. I guess in the end…"

– x –

He looks into the sky, painfully aware that everything is slowing diminishing, the stars going out one by one, like the splatter of blood sliding down his cold, cold cheek.

But he sees _gold_.

A wonderful shade of yellow.

And he knows that it is not the rising sun.

– x –

"It's too late."

Gasp. Chuckle. Wheeze.

"Fer you an' me. Fer me an' you."

And for whatever they could have had.

– x –

He is her maker. And that maker has killed her.

– x –

_You fly faster than the light  
__You are over everything at the same time  
__You are not a father or mother  
__And nor the kingdom of heaven _

– x –

They hold each other at swords' length, for they can be no closer.

– x –

_Here comes the sun_

– x –

Maybe without Aizen they could have been together.

– x –

_It is the lightest star of all_

– x –

Maybe have a family and kids, or some stupid shit like that.

– x –

_And it will never fall from the sky_

– x –

But _fuck_, when life is slipping before someone's very eyes, should they really focus on _'what if'_s and '_what could have been'_s?

– x –

_Here comes the sun_

– x –

Shouldn't he just focus on the present and kiss her one last time?

– x –

_Here comes the sun_

– x –

"Don't make me break your heart."

– x –

_It is the lightest star of all_

– x –

"It's too late fer that too."

– x –

_Here comes the sun_

– x –

Two butterflies fly that night, soaring in crimson wings.

– x –

_But without you  
__I don't exist_

– x –

Not everyone gets a happy ending; but nobody remains as innocent as they originally were.

It doesn't matter if you're human, Hollow, _shinigami_, Arrancar or Vaizard.

You don't learn. You make the same mistakes that previous era made.

It's a never ending spiral of greediness and folly.

That's life.

And so the circle repeats once more.

– x –

Perhaps they'll meet again, the girl with aureate glowing eyes, and the boy with a smile that's always too wide.

Perhaps next time, they'll have a happier ending.

– x –

But then again, perhaps not.

– x –

**a/n.** _I can't believe this is over – thank you very much everyone who has reviewed, favourited and alerted. Hope you enjoyed reading._


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